


The First Voyage Home

by LadyBArtist



Series: One Summer [4]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Falling In Love, Family, Gay Sex, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Love, M/M, Romance, Sex, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-22 10:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11378805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBArtist/pseuds/LadyBArtist
Summary: James T. Kirk returns home to Riverside, Iowa for the funeral of his brother Sam and family. We follow the run-up to the funeral as Kirk, his mother Winona and his nephew Peter spend five days together, coming to terms with their loss. And for Kirk, the homecoming is a reunion of sorts as a special guest has tagged along: none other than Mr. Spock.Chapter 3 is now posted. Spock reflects on how bad humans are with emotion and teaches us what it really means to be Vulcan. He also reveals the first time he realised he loved Jim.This story is part of the One Summer saga: the story of how Kirk and Spock came to be together and how their love endured. The events in The First Voyage Home follow on from the previous stories, so you may want to check those out before embarking on this.The First Voyage Home is what you 20th and 21st Century types would consider to be a 'TV special'; a mini-series that takes place in-between Operation: Annihilate! from season 1 and Amok Time in season 2.





	1. Chapter 1

When the phone rang, she knew. Really she did. And when she answered and saw James standing there, all smart in that gold of his, she pressed her nails deep into her palms. ‘Mom, the Enterprise was called to Deneva…’

That was all he needed to say. She started crying and didn’t stop. A mother is not meant to outlive her children, her grandchildren… 

‘Peter’s okay. Mom? Peter’s okay...’

‘I wish you were here! I want to hold you…’ she could barely get her words out. She was hugging herself in lieu of James being physically there. Boy – she musta looked a sight.

‘I’ll be there in ten days.’

‘You’re coming?’

‘I’ve told Starfleet that they can go fuck themselves. There’s no way I’m missing this. Peter, Sam, Aurelan, George Jr., Jilly and me - we’re on our way.’

‘What about your ship?’ She was still his mom at the end of the day, no matter how old he was. She had to check that he wasn’t getting into trouble.

‘Scotty’s going to look after her. No better man in the galaxy for the job. The Enterprise loves him. She makes me real jealous about it too,’ he winked. ‘Seriously, they’re going to do something quiet for a month. The whole crew will be grateful for the downtime. Now – stop worrying, please. I’m coming home.’

She was crying so hard. James was coming here. She hadn’t seen him in five years. He’d had no respite between missions.

Finally, she managed to force out, ‘I love you.’ She reached her hand out to the screen and he did the same. Mother and son touched palms across a thousand light years.

‘I love you too, mom.’

James made the first call to Aurelan’s family, but Winona called them straight after. Poor Eliza and Tom… she would never forget that call. They said they had no problem with Aurelan being buried in Riverside alongside Sam. Winona told them that they always had a home with her anytime they wanted to visit their daughter and grandchildren. 

Winona told Eliza that her son would be attending the funeral. ‘I haven’t seen him since he was a cadet! Oh, it’ll be good to see his handsome face again…’

Winona promised herself that when he got back, she’d tell him all about Eliza’s reaction: ‘That’s your gift, James. Your presence - it makes people feel better.’

The newspapers, the TV, all were full of the Denevan incident. The planet had a number of citizens originally from Earth. In fact, new families had settled there only a year before those monsters hit it. But that wasn’t the only reason why it was all over the news. Winona was the mother of the most famous man in the galaxy. Terra just didn’t seem to be able to get enough of the exploits of the dashing James T. Kirk. Winona was intensely proud of him. She kept all of his press cuttings. And saying, ‘I am the mother of James T. Kirk,’ got her all kinds of upgrades on flights and accommodation. James would tell her off for freeloading. ‘You can’t do that ma!’ 

But this time round, Winona could have done without the attention. Reporters began knocking her door, following her when she made a trip into town. For well over a week now, Winona had barely left the farmhouse. It simply wasn’t worth it: ‘Mrs Kirk – how does it feel losing Sam, your daughter and two grandchildren?’ ‘Do you feel anger towards your son for failing to get there on time to save them?’ If she had bothered to speak to them, her answers would have been, ‘Like dying,’ and ‘Yes.’ Maybe it was bad karma from all that freeloading…

She was looking through an old newspaper story now, trying to keep down the piece of toast and coffee she’d eaten ten minutes earlier: _**‘Captain Kirk and the intrepid Mr. Spock return from a mission to Janus IV.'**_ ‘The intrepid Mr. Spock…’ That had been a turn-up for the books. There was a picture of the two of them. There were always pictures in articles about them, she noted. The world liked looking at the handsome pair, but Winona wasn’t so sure that they liked looking at anyone but each other. Like most of the cuttings she had, her son was staring at Spock and vice versa. She couldn’t help but notice these things. She was an artist so she observed everything, every little nuance minutely. But also, she was his mother. Was he sorting himself out, finally?

Her mind turned to another videocall James had made a year or so ago:

‘Mom, I’ve got some news. You’d better sit down.’

‘Oh my god – you’ve got a girl pregnant! There’s no excuse in this day and age, James…’

‘No! Christ! Just sit down and shut up a minute! Yeesh. Okay…I have been made captain. I got me a starship, ma!’

She almost fell off her chair. Then she cried. Good tears. 

‘I’m the youngest captain ever. EVER.’

‘I’m so happy I think my heart’s gonna burst. I always knew you’d do it. Is it a nice ship?’

‘It is! One of the best. Her name is Enterprise.’

Winona rolled her name over, ‘En-ter-prise. She sounds pretty. When do you start?’

‘Straightaway, so no homecoming. Sorry mom.’

‘Ah,’ she said and waved her hand dismissively, even though her heart cracked a little, ‘you’re a starship captain now. You have things to do. So – what’s the crew like? Any of the old team from the Academy there? Brian? – I’d love to see him again. I wonder if he can still do that thing with his belly button…?’

She watched James’s face change, ever-so-slightly. It was so subtle that no one but his mother would have noticed it. But his eyes - that sparkle – it shifted. His breathing changed and his pulse lifted too. Not that you could see that. All Winona observed was the aftereffect: a change in his colour from honey to honey-pink.

‘Well, Gary’s coming on board. Gary Mitchell. Remember him?’

‘Oh yeah, I remember Gary. Very dry sense of humour.’

She waited. She wasn’t sure what for.

‘And, ah, Spock. Spock’s on the crew.’

Bang. There it was – plain as the perfect, tiny nose on her face. James was still in love with that damn Vulcan boy.

Her mind went further back to sixteen years ago. She was hugging Spock goodbye. He’d stayed stiff like a corpse. His eyes looked glassy, troubled. What was going on? The door shut behind him. She went to the window and saw him step onto the transport, those long legs of his folding and unfolding. He turned round and looked up at the house, black, glossy hair repelling the rain. Wait, was he crying? She’d call him when he got to San Francisco, make sure that he was okay.

She watched the transport exhaust ports change position and push the craft up and up, past the house into the grey sky in the distance.

He was gone. She’d miss him. He was a lovely kid. Sad, lonely but lovely. He made her home come together somehow. Maybe that was because, at the heart of him, he was pure Manda through-and-through: noble and thoughtful. But she’d be seeing him again come winter vacation.

There was a mighty crash from upstairs. And there again. Winona ran up the steps and slammed open the guest bedroom door. There was James, tearing the room up – chair smashed, desk turned over, lamp thrown against a wall, now lying broken at Winona’s feet.

‘Baby? What’s wrong?’

James stared at her as though he’d just woken from a nightmare. And then the storm broke: tears, holding himself, ‘He’s gone!’

What could she do except hug him and listen to his story and try to tell him that everything would be okay? She didn’t understand what a bond can do to a human boy of seventeen. All Winona had to keep her going most days was her idea that love always wins, that it always finds a way. That’s what she’d told James then, and that’s what she told him again when he mentioned that Spock was on that new starship of his. 

‘It’s not like that anymore, mom.’

Sure James, sure.

But maybe he was right. Maybe she was reading too much into things. It wasn’t her place to enforce her ideas over her children, no matter how nice those ideas were. They had to find their own way to live. Her hopes for them, of which she had many, were not the same as reality. She needed to recognise that. Perhaps what she was seeing right now as she stared at the newspaper picture of James and Spock was nothing but wish-fulfilment. What if she was wrong? Maybe love didn’t always find a way. It didn’t find a way with Sam, did it? Where had love been when her family was ripped away? She was just a silly, silly old woman with stupid notions. She’d let Sam down. She should have been there with him, with Aurelan. She should have been holding little George and Jilly’s hands when the end came. Night after night, the same dream: ‘Grandma’s here. Just shut your eyes. I’ll make it go away.’

But instead she’d been here, getting free cups of coffee on her son’s reputation and wishing for pointy-eared grandchildren.

How was she supposed to live through this? Sam! Sam! Just come back to me! Sam…!

She had to do something. If she sat there any longer she’d go crazy. She grabbed some sheets. All she’d done for ten days now was clean, clean, clean. Damn farmhouse had never looked so tidy. Turns out her kitchen floor wasn’t supposed to be brown. She had linen to hang out. People were coming to stay: James, Peter. Peter. How was she supposed to look her grandson in the eye after all she’d done? Don’t think. Stop it. Just go hang the damn laundry out. Fuck the reporters. They could see her crying. Maybe if they got a shot of that they’d leave her the fuck alone.

She headed into the backyard. At least the weather was nice. Mid-July, hot, blue skies that stretched forever. The bluest sky of any town of any county of any state of any country of any planet in the whole damn galaxy: that was Riverside. 

Hanging out the laundry. No reporters that she could see, but they could probably spy on her from miles away. Maybe next time she should come out here naked. Show them where James got that killer sex appeal from. Hah!

A shadow crossed her face. She looked up, holding her arm to shield her eyes against the blue. A transport… A real fancy-looking Starfleet one. James! James was here!

She dropped the laundry and ran, hell-for-leather around the farmhouse to the front lawn. The transport had come to a halt in front of the gate. There was Peter! Look at that red hair. He musta grown six inches since last she saw him! And now James. How did he manage to tan in space? Oh he looked so good, though. She was just gonna hug them and love them and squeeze them and…

She stopped dead. 

Black hair. Jet-black and glossy. Six feet tall or more - all legs and arms. Not a spare ounce of fat on him. That chin, that mouth. His eyes – you couldn’t see them until you got real close, but they were brown – she knew that. And those ears. 

She was right by them now. She looked at James, his eyes, dancing with expectation. Winona pointed: ‘It’s him.’

James smiled a big smile. ‘Yeah mom. It’s him. He’s here too.’

She looked over to Peter. He was smiling too. She was still pointing, ‘He’s here, Peter.’ 

‘I know grandma,’ replied Peter, even though he wasn’t sure what was happening. 

Winona started laughing, a giggle. James and Peter started laughing too. And then she stared at him.

‘You’re here.’

‘Yes,’ replied Spock. 

She held her hands to her face as though she was praying and started to cry. Happy crying, little tears. ‘You’re here…’

Spock stepped forward, opened his arms and wrapped them around her, tight. Winona buried her head into his chest. ‘I am here’, Spock affirmed.

James rubbed his mom’s back, grabbed his nephew with his free arm and kissed his red hair.

They were all there.

Love always wins. It always finds a way.


	2. Chapter 2

They all piled into the house, dropping their bags in the hall. Winona flopped down on the couch in the lounge, Peter and Jim wrapped around her. She kissed their heads, Peter first, Jim next. ‘I have my boys back,’ she said contentedly. 

A pair of black boots could be seen going up the stairs, dragging cases behind him. ‘I see we have gained a house elf,’ said Jim to Peter. ‘I mean, he does have the ears.’ 

Peter smiled.

‘Who’s cooler, Peter? Spock or your uncle Jim?’ asked Winona.

Peter didn’t hesitate: ‘Spock.’

Jim pursed his lips and shook his head in mock-disgust, ‘Spock’s cooler, eh? Well – that’s it then. I may as well give up now.’

Bang, bang bang, b-bang upstairs. Boots descending hop-hop-d-hop. Spock walked past the lounge door. They heard the kitchen door open. More banging. ‘I’ll go see what Uncle Spock’s doing.’ Peter left the couch and disappeared through the door which led directly into the kitchen

‘Uncle Spock?’ asked Winona, wide-eyed.

The first time Peter said it was four days into the journey back to Iowa. They were having a really bad night, the worst. Peter woke up screaming three times. The first time, Jim wasn’t sure what it was. A dream? Then he realised he was awake and thought, ‘That’s odd, someone is screaming.’ But then Spock shook him and said, ‘Jim. Peter is in distress.’ 

Jim leapt out of his bed to his nephew’s side. ‘Peter? Peter? Uncle Jim’s here, buddy.’ 

Spock entered Peter’s bedroom, a glass of water and a tablet in his hands. ‘Take this.’ Jim’s nephew, awake now, duly obeyed. He handed the empty glass back to the Vulcan. ‘Can I have some more water please, Uncle Spock?’

‘Yes,’ said Spock, not missing a beat. He got up and left the room, returning with a fresh glass. Uncle Spock indeed.

‘Peter started calling him that. I didn’t tell him to,’ Jim replied.

Winona leant back, ‘Hmmm. I see…’, mischievous smile in her eyes now: ‘So, have you two…?’ She made a ring shape with the thumb and middle finger of her right hand and proceeded to poke the first finger of her left hand through said ring.

Jim smacked her hands down, playfully, ‘Stop that! And no, not yet.’

‘Christ – you two are idiots. Why not?’

‘We shouldn’t be talking about this,’ said Jim.

Winona grabbed her son’s arm. Her hands were showing the signs of age now, knuckles getting bigger. She brought her face close to him. It was lined and drawn. Had she eaten anything in the past two weeks? ‘If Sam was here right now, what would he say to you?’

Jim smiled and sat forward in his seat, very upright. ‘Seal the deal, Jim! Seal the deal!’ he said, chopping his right hand into his left palm - his best impression of Sam.

Winona started to laugh. Jim laughed too, but then leant forward and started to cry; big tears, sobbing for the time since it happened.

Spock appeared at the lounge door. Winona shook her head to say, ‘It’s okay, I got this.’ The Vulcan closed the door as quietly as he’d opened it.

Later, after the crying was done and the words all said, Jim pinched the top of his nose in fatigue. ‘Why don’t you lie down a while? Get some rest before dinner?’ Winona suggested.

‘That, ah, might not be a bad idea, ma.’

Jim removed his boots, swung his legs up and laid back on a couch pillow, placing an arm behind his head. A thought popped into his mind; a conversation he’d had a year ago with a boy of seventeen:

‘What if you care for someone? What do you do?’ 

‘You go slow, you be gentle…’

You go slow – Jim had said it and at the time he believed it. But right now Jim was wondering just how slow slow had to be. Was he wrong for wanting something more? He knew he loved Spock. Of course there were moments when he thought, ‘This isn’t such a big thing. I can take or leave it.’ But then Spock would fold his arms or get exasperated with Bones or nerve pinch the living hell out of a guy and BANG! - there it was. Love. Real, absolute, I-cannot-live-without-this-man love. Jim’s love was sure as eggs is eggs.

And Jim knew that Spock loved him. You can’t ignore something like that when you’re bonded to someone. There is nothing stranger than feeling the feelings of another person. As a human, you think you feel love but you don’t know what it actually is. Love is something you feel for another; a projection if you like. What you experience inside yourself is nothing but a reverberation; an echo of that declaration you’re shouting toward the other. 

But now? Now Jim really, truly knew what love felt like - Spock’s love, at least. It wasn’t at all like he expected. Spock’s love was a blanket, wrapping Jim up. It was a cushion to rest upon, a soft place to fall. Whatever doubts Jim had, Spock sure didn’t. To Spock, Jim was an ever-fixed mark; something shining and brilliant and sure. Spock’s love surrounded Jim totally. It was there when he sat in his captain’s chair, it was there in the briefing room, in the rec room, the mess. It was even there in his dreams - a fact which scared Jim a little. Love was always there and it tasted of limes.

He was dreaming of Spock now, in fact.

Dreaming of holding his hand. Fingers, caressing.

Heads bowing, lips together.

Pulling away. A tiny string of saliva.

Pushing Spock down. Jim on top now. Together. Moving.

Moving more.

Moving…

‘James?’ James, honey? Dinner’s ready.’

Jim roused, wiping his eyes. ‘Dinner?’ 

‘Yes, come eat,’ said Winona. 

Jim sauntered into the kitchen. There was Spock, putting the last dish on the table. Spock had cooked a real feast, Peter assisting. Jim didn’t even know that his love could cook. What a clever, clever boy he was. Winona was eating and eating well; tucking in, crumbs on her chin, ‘He cooked a flan! I never cooked a flan in my life. Spock – you’re giving up Starfleet and coming to live here with me and Peter. Okay?’

‘I consider that history would look unfavourably on me resigning my commission in favour of being your personal chef, Winona…’

Spock had done all this – cooking, tidying, keeping Peter and Winona occupied…What did it all mean? 

Two weeks ago, when Jim was sat opposite a viewscreen staring at Komack’s lazy face – did he have any inkling of everything that was going to happen? ‘I am leaving this ship to take the bodies of my family back to Iowa to bury them. Whatever you, the Admiralty and Starfleet do about that is up to you. But I am going home. There is no negotiation to be had.’

‘I know, Jim! Christ! All I’m saying is that it’s one thing you being absent from the Enterprise for a month, but your first officer too?’

First officer? What?

‘We’re doing our best to make this happen, but we need your assurance that Spock accompanying you will not endanger that ship and her crew. I want a plan in three hours’ time. Give me that Jim, and I’ll give you Iowa.’

‘I, I’ll get it to you...Kirk out.’

He sat there for a moment gathering his thoughts: bewilderment, concern but mostly excitement. Spock was coming along…

A heartbeat later: ‘Mind telling me what this is about?’

A raised eyebrow, arms crossed, a response to both occurring inside Jim’s pants: ‘I surmised that you would need assistance on the voyage. Peter is not well. As I was also subjected to the same attack as your nephew, I consider that my experience will be invaluable.’

‘I see…’ said Jim.

‘Also, I wish to go. I have not had the opportunity to meet with Winona since…our summer. I want to help you with this, Jim. I want to go home.’

Lime. Lime on Jim’s tongue. It made his mouth water.

‘Very well, but I’m being asked for a plan to manage this, Mr. Spock.’

‘Already formulated. Scott and I have co-ordinated cover for command, planned the route and eventual location for the Enterprise over the next four weeks. He proposes to take her for a restock at Selengi Five. This will also give the crew an opportunity for a short break. They have had twelve months in deep space, Jim.’

Fall back Captain Kirk. Rest easy. Relax. Let it - let him - wrap around you. Everything’s going to be okay.

‘Give me the record tape to review. If I’m happy with it, I’ll transmit it to Starfleet Central.’

Now Jim was staring at Spock, explaining in his patient Vulcan manner to Winona how a transporter works, in-between mouthfuls of bruschetta topped with tomato, olive oil and basil, eaten delicately with a knife and fork. And all Jim could think was, ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…’ God, he loved him. Loved him so much it hurt. Loved him so much he’d grow pointed ears for him, if that’s what it took to finally, finally…

Did Spock know, though? Did he really know how grateful Jim was for all he’d done? Coming here; looking after Peter? Because Jim was grateful and happy and felt blessed – yes, blessed - to have Spock in his life. Spock was a Vulcan, a Vulcan for chrissakes! Yet here he was, sitting in Winona’s kitchen, feeding her and listening to her mad questions about transporters - ‘But how do they transport your soul?’ And still Spock didn’t complain. He didn’t once cross his arms or tell her that she was being illogical. He was fucking beautiful, did he know that? He was beautiful and noble and cast from some mould that was made for Jim it seemed, because every time Jim looked at him he took his breath away.

Did he know? 

Spock looked up from his conversation with Winona and stared into Jim’s eyes. He stared right into him, inside him, through him and back round him. Jim’s mouth filled with saliva. Sour and perfumed.

Spock knew.

After dinner they sat around the kitchen table playing board games. They all agreed that they couldn’t possibly play Trivial Pursuit because Spock would beat them hands down, so they had settled on Monopoly. But even at this, Spock was roundly whooping their asses, ‘I believe that you owe me another twenty dollars rent, Winona…’ ‘Goddamn capitalist. Boo! Boo, Spock!’

Of all the things that had surprised Jim so far, nothing compared to finding out just how much he liked spending time with Spock. Jim was a private man. Accessible and approachable, yes, but nevertheless he had to project an image of being right, of being solidly dependable all of the time. In other words, Jim always had to act like a starship captain. But the truth of him, we know, is different. He couldn’t possibly be the kind of hero that the galaxy expected him to be, to always be there for us whether right or wrong. So once a day, Jim would shut his door and hide away from our demands. He liked to pretend that we didn’t exist, to be alone with his Bob Dylan tapes and his Shakespeare folio. He needed that otherwise he’d go crazy.

But there was no opportunity for alone time on the trip home. Peter, Spock and Jim flew by shuttle to meet with the Endeavour, another Constitution-class starship heading back to Terra for a complete re-fit. Constitution-class wasn’t created for visitors. It was made to do a job; to transport a crew around deep space on a mission of exploration. Living quarters were at bare minimum, therefore. To squeeze Jim and company in, they had to share a room. Peter took the bedroom, Spock and Jim slept on two cot beds in the small seating area. They lived on top of each other for two weeks, never parting. Spock was the first thing Jim saw each morning and the last thing he saw each night – their single beds lying mere inches apart. 

Going out into the body of the ship was not a hot prospect. Everyone stared, everyone wanted to speak to them - the famous Captain James T. Kirk and Mr. Spock of the Starship Enterprise. ‘Captain, I just want to say that was some fight you had with that Gorn fella…’ ‘Mr. Spock, I’ve read your paper on singularity effects on warp fields and I just wanted to ask…’ There wasn’t an officer on the Endeavour, its captain included if truth be known, who didn’t wonder what it would be like to serve on the Enterprise. But Jim, laden with grief and worried-sick about the mental health of his one remaining nephew, did not want to be bothered with it all, frankly. ‘Leave me alone,’ he thought to himself. 

And so the Enterprise clique of two-plus-one kept to themselves, mainly. The cot beds were folded up and put away during the day. Side-by-side on the couch they sat, reading, sometimes with respective headphones in and on Vulcan and non-Vulcan ears; The Cure or Depeche Mode or Bowie playing – it didn’t matter. Passages from books would be pointed to – the other reading the highlighted paragraph and responding with a smile or raised eyebrow. The nephew sometimes sat between them, or lay with his head in the lap of the human one, feet resting on the Vulcan one, sleeping fitfully, making up for his lack of sleep in the night. The Vulcan would get up from time-to-time, bringing a glass of water or a coffee or a sandwich where none was asked for but was wanted nonetheless. And when night came, the Vulcan and the human stood side-by-side at the bathroom sink, teeth brushed, a towel shared, a stray black glossy bang fixed back into place by the human’s hand. Then the nephew would be attended to. Long Vulcan fingers gently holding open a reluctant eye: ‘It is uncomfortable, yes, but if you keep still it will be over sooner.’ Then a tuck into bed and a night Uncle Jim night Uncle Spock. Cot beds folded out, placed close so that the breath of the Vulcan one could be tasted by the human one. Then came the talking, endless talking about everything, all through the night: ‘I have my eye on Ensign Chekov for a bridge position.’ ‘A wise choice, Captain.’ ‘Sulu’s gay?!?!’ ‘Do you walk around the Enterprise in a fog, Jim?’ ‘I don’t think I’m strong enough to get through this…’ ‘You are. The well of your courage is bottomless…’

And in all of it there wasn’t a single moment when Jim wanted to be alone. That ten-day trip, with all its sadness and worry, was the happiest Jim had ever been. He wanted it to last forever: him and Spock, eating and drinking and reading and talking together, caring for a child. 

It was time for bed. Peter was trying to put off sleep for as long as possible - Jim could hear Spock talking to him softly down the hall. 

Jim went to his childhood bedroom, walked in. That’s when it hit him: tonight he’d be alone. His spirit left him. He wanted to cry, but didn’t. Instead, he recalled a conversation he’d had sixteen years earlier. 

He could see Sam as clear as day, sitting beside him on his bed, sporting that moustache he’d chosen to grow even though Jim was never sure it suited him.

‘I think I’m gay.’

‘Really? You surprise me, Jimmy-Boy. I thought it was girls all the way with you.’

‘No, I’ve always liked boys too. I just find girls easier to approach, I guess. But, ah, last summer vacation I met a guy. I fell in love.’

‘First time? And how did it feel?’

‘Like hell.’

‘Yeah – that’s love alright. What’s this guy’s name?’

‘Uhm, Spock.’

‘Spock? Spock! You mean that Vulcan kid who came here?’ Sam whistled.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just that you sure know how to pick ‘em! I mean – a Vulcan? The rarest flower in all the galaxy and my little brother thought he was going to pluck it? Jeez, Jim. I take it that you got nowhere?’

‘Ah, no. We did something.’

‘Like what? Kiss?’

‘More than that.’

Sam wiped his mouth with his hand. ‘Jim, what the hell are you doing here?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, why are you here and not with him, right now? I can tell just by looking at you that you still love this guy. You really don’t realise what you did, did you?’

‘I guess not. Explain.’

‘Jim – you “did something”. With a Vulcan. As far as I can tell, the only other human to have “done something” with a Vulcan is that mother of his. An emotionless, logical Vulcan submitted to my emotional, illogical brother and they “did something" together. Don’t you see, you idiot? You made a Vulcan fall in love with you! They don’t do stuff on a whim.’

‘He walked out, Sam! He left me!’

‘You just gotta fight for this guy! Me and Aurelan - things were real easy with her, I’m not denying that. I knew I loved her right from the start and that she loved me. But her mom and dad hated the idea of us heading out there together,’ he pointed to some unseen star, ‘so I had to fight. And fight I did. Now? We’re happy.’

‘Mom says I should take it easy; that I’ve got to respect his boundaries.’

‘I’m not saying Mom’s not right, Jim. She’s correct. If this Spock fella doesn’t want you, then you need to respect that one hundred per cent. But do you know that he doesn’t want you?’

Jim had to admit that he didn’t. 

‘Then, go have a conversation at least. A polite, adult conversation, “Hey Spock, I haven’t seen you in a while. Can we talk?” And then introduce the subject, “I want you to know that I respect your wishes completely, but I need to tell you that I’m still in love with you. And I’m here to find out if you feel the same way.” If he says no, then you shake his hand and say thanks. If he says yes then… seal the deal, Jim. Seal the deal.’

What would Sam make of Jim’s situation now? Had he sealed the deal? Jim wasn’t so sure. And that doubt came down to one thing, the obvious thing. Maybe he was being childish, selfish. He should appreciate whatever it was he had with Spock and be grateful for it, just shut up about the other thing. Christ – he wasn’t a horny seventeen-year-old anymore.

His head hurt. Migraine.

‘Jim, are you feeling unwell?’ 

He turned round. Spock was at the door. Jeans on, shirt with the arms rolled up to his elbows. He looked crazy-good.

‘Did you manage to get Peter to sleep?’

‘Yes. I administered a sleeping tablet which Dr McCoy prescribed. The boy is in need of rest. But I asked a question: Are you unwell?’

‘Just a migraine,’ replied Jim. ‘I’ll take my meds. It’ll pass.’

‘Would you allow me…?’ Spock gestured to the bed. Jim understood. He removed his tee and lay, face-down on the bed in just his shorts. Spock sat beside him and started to touch, long dry fingers kneading into the soft flesh on the back of Jim’s neck, moving down his spine, knuckles digging in, then hands smoothing. Jim sighed, felt the tension from his anxiety lifting and the migraine dissipating with it.

He relished these massages from Spock and he knew why. He was ashamed of it, but it was the truth nonetheless. He knew he loved Spock, knew Spock loved him. But he wanted, rightly or no, to show Spock his love physically. Jim hadn’t touched someone in that way for eighteen months now. The life of a starship captain is that of a monk, cloistered celibacy in robes of gold. Jim was bursting.

God, this felt so good - Spock’s hands on him. Jim buried his head in the pillow. He didn’t want it to stop. He was a man after all, a passionate man. Jim loved sex. Loved giving pleasure. He wanted to give that to Spock. After all, Kelso had given it to him. Wasn’t Jim good enough? How was the thing which Kelso and Spock had different to this?

All Jim wanted was to reach out and stroke him and taste him and have those Vulcan eyes half-close as he did so. To be inside him? If only that could be. Jim would give away all his earthly goods to possess Spock; to hold him in his arms and say, ‘You are mine,’ then take him again and again until there was nothing more to take or to give. He wanted to fuck Spock senseless. 

There was a sudden taste in his mouth. Very specific. Chocolate. Not the usual kind of candy he’d bought from the store as a kid. This wasn’t so sweet. It was rich; the kind of chocolate you’d take one bite of and savour, roll around your tongue and let melt, slowly. You couldn’t take much of this chocolate; you wouldn’t want to take much of it because one bite was enough to satisfy.

Spock’s fingers left Jim’s body. 

Jim looked up. Spock had turned away and was staring towards the closed door. He looked troubled, for him anyhow.

Jim sat up and shuffled his body over to his love. ‘Are you okay?’

Spock’s eyes didn’t leave the door. ‘If I continue to touch you, I will do something to you.’

Jim’s stomach lurched again. ‘Something? You mean…something sexual?’

‘Yes,’ replied Spock. Chocolate again, right on Jim’s tongue.

Sam’s voice echoed in Jim’s head, ‘Seal the deal, Jim…’ 

‘Would that be such a bad thing?’ Jim asked, tentatively.

Spock turned to stare at him. That took all the breath out of Jim’s body The look in Spock’s eyes was pure melted brown, push-your-tongue-in, scoop-it-up, sex: ‘At this time, yes. Peter is unwell – likely to wake up. Your mother is also ill with grief. You are likewise fatigued and anxious. This is a house of sorrow, Jim. It would be disrespectful to have sex here. I would rather our first time be special.’

Jim had to stop himself punching the air with joy. Spock was right of course, totally. ‘I agree completely.’ Jim paused. He had to make sure of this. ‘So…are we dating?’

Spock looked at Jim as though he was crazy. ‘Affirmative. And I surmise from that question that you did not realise that.’

‘Nope.’

‘You do walk around in a fog, Jim.’

Jim laughed and put his chin on Spock’s shoulder. ‘I’m illogical. You think you can put up with that?’

‘I have managed this fact for sixteen years now, Captain. I calculate that I can continue to maintain my composure.’

It was time. ‘I love you, T’hy’la.’

 _< ‘And I love you, T’hy’la,’ >_ came the reply in Vulcan, but Jim understood it perfectly. Their bond transmitted it into his mind.

‘Christ, I want to kiss you,’ said Jim, frustrated.

‘That would be acceptable,’ replied Spock. Jim lifted his head, Spock moved in. Jim felt warm breath against his mouth and then Spock’s lips on his. It was dry at first, then open, open and wet. Spock’s tongue was first to move in. Jim responded in kind, deep and needy. Chocolate filled his senses. Hands gripped the backs of necks, hair. They moved in harder. Sighs now, a moan from Jim. Spock pushed in even deeper, excited by the sound. Then Spock pulled back, breathing heavy.

‘We…we will stop now,’ he managed to say.

‘Yes,’ agreed Jim.

Spock got up to leave but Jim didn’t want to let go of his hand. ‘I know this is perhaps, uhm, unwise of me, but I don’t want to be alone tonight. Can we please try to sleep side-by-side? Nicely? No naughtiness?’

Spock considered. ‘A moment, Captain.’

He disappeared. Jim sat on the bed waiting. He returned ten minutes later, swathed in Vulcan robes – a long top and pants - which covered him from neck to feet. 

‘Is that supposed to make you look less sexy? Because its failing,’ smiled Jim.

‘It makes me feel less sexy, so it will work.’

Spock got into bed beside Jim. He offered his arm out, flat. Jim placed his head on Spock’s chest and Spock duly clasped the arm back round Jim. Jim tasted chocolate-coated lime. ‘Sleep’, said Spock. And sleep they did, with only the occasional straying hand and a murmured, ‘Wait, Spock. We should wait.’

Seal the deal, Jim. Seal the deal.

I did Sam. It took me a long time, but I did it. I love you, big brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I see we have gained a house elf..._ For a chosen few on the Enterprise, Spock has a nickname: Dobby. If Dobby likes you, Dobby does things for you, secretly. Uhura reflects sadly on a wooden carving her grandfather gave her of a fishing boat, now lost - one appears, delicately carved at her workstation. Janice can't get any of her own work done because arranging the Yeoman rota is problematic this week - a full schedule for the next four weeks appears in her PADD. Shh, don't tell anyone but you've been visited by Dobby, the Enterprise ship elf. And if he visits you, it must mean that you are very special indeed.
> 
>  _He cooked a flan...!_ Spock was a bad Vulcan here and handled eggs. However, Spock will do most anything to help a person in need. If you've ever read the book _Sarek_ by A.C. Crispin, you'll find that Spock offers to get a hamburger for his mom when she feels unwell. Dobby strikes again.
> 
>  _Komack's lazy face..._ When Kirk visits me, he loves to listen to my galaxy-beating impression of Admiral 'A dying Vulcan? You woke me for this?' Komack. Go refer to your televised log called "Amok Time" (The titles you 20th century types gave to these things! Cracks us all up here!). Listen to Komack say 'Starfleet out.' That's what Jim gets me to do. Seriously, the man can barely be bothered to speak. Laziest arsehole in all of Starfleet.
> 
> PS - I also do an amazing impression of T'Pau - 'Spowhk? You call dese out-verlders, frients...?'
> 
>  _they had settled on Monopoly..._ Monopoly is still played in my time but it is anachronistic in the extreme. The idea of making so much money out of others that you leave with them with nothing? Illogical.
> 
>  _Constitution-class wasn't created for visitors..._ Indeed not. In fact, in the televised log you call 'Journey to Babel" (Hah! again! You crazy-cats!) a number of more senior officers were forced to bunk-up together to make room for all the diplomats. Ensigns and ensign-yeomen share quarters anyway, and so do some lieutenants too. Rank or bridge duty usually makes it so you get your own space.
> 
>  _is that mother of his..._ Amanda is not the first human to have sampled the delights of sex ala Vulcan. However, Amanda is the first human to have married a Vulcan. And you have to remember that because Sarek and she really are a fairy tale. More about that story at a later date, methinks.
> 
>  _Limes...chocolate..._ Feelings, thoughts, flavours, sounds and sights - these can all be transmitted along a bond. Why Spock's love tastes of _klihst_ \- a Vulcan fruit which is close to Terran limes, I do not know. However, the chocolate link is pretty obvious. Lots of Class M planets have a plant similar to cocoa. Vulcan doesn't, but in the pre-Surak era when Vulcan was visited by off-worlder traders (yes, they had alien contact then), they brought a cocoa-like plant with them. And even then, Vulcan's went ga-ga for it. In your post-Surak ear-wielder, cocoa induces a kind of drunken euphoria or lust. Cocoa produces serotonin in the body. Vulcan hearts being so close to their stomachs, and serotonin being produced in their tummies, the way to a Vulcan's heart is truly through their stomach where cocoa is concerned. Chocolate is in fact given as a cheeky wedding gift on Vulcan and imports of it go through the roof during the eighth month of the Vulcan calendar when Pon Farr is at its height. But don't tell anyone because they wouldn't want to lose their reputations as the galaxy's sternest of stern-bags.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a distinctly non-Vulcan day; twenty-four hours which had proven, absolutely, that emotions are wasted on humans.

Now, we should not judge Spock too harshly for this opinion of his. He secretly liked humans, one human especially so, who happened to be wrapped around him at this very moment. What peeved Spock was the fact that we have all these feelings which we display and act upon, yet we don’t trust them. Humans need words, endless words to understand what is going on around them. And the fact of that was maddening even to a Vulcan like himself.

Take, for instance, a conversation just two hours earlier at 00:22. Jim asked the following:

‘So…are we dating?’

Jim asked that after the two of them had worked out that their love was stronger than spores, stronger than preserving a Horta for science and stronger than Edith Keeler. He asked that after fourteen months of chess games and dinners and away missions featuring just the two of them. He asked that after back rubs and flirting and beaming at each other across alien parlour rooms. He asked that after feeling and returning all that love along their bond. Jim actually, really asked that.

Even now in his perfect sleep, Jim was doubting. Spock could feel it, see it, in fact. Jim was dreaming of Spock; a Spock who had decided that he didn’t feel anything anymore, a Spock who had entirely forgotten his love for Jim. It was illogical. 

Now Jim was dreaming about something very different. He was dreaming about Peter. The child was in trouble, thrashing about in bed, about to start screaming. The dream was vivid. Very vivid…

Spock lifted Jim’s arm carefully and extracted himself from underneath the captain’s sleeping form. This warranted an investigation. Spock made his way down the hallway to the light of Peter’s bedroom. Peter was thrashing around the bed, tossing the sheets this way and that. Just as Spock got near, Peter started screaming. ‘Fascinating,’ thought Spock.

Spock proceeded to sit by the boy to calm him down, gently waking him and applied a cold, wet cloth to his hot forehead. Peter sipped a glass of water as Spock read a chapter out loud from ‘The Andorian Boy Detectives’. Spock stayed there until the boy drifted back off to sleep an hour later.

Spock slid back into bed, tucked his arm under his head and returned to watching _T’hy’la_ sleep. Spock found this aided his focus. Jim’s face was like an icon; his symmetrical features drew Spock’s thinking into Jim, through him and out, out into the universe. Spock let it happen, not caring where _T’hy’la_ took him. He was an explorer, after all. 

Spock found himself on the bridge of the Enterprise, at the moment when it was announced that James T. Kirk was assuming the captaincy:

‘It’s him, isn’t it? He’s the guy?’

Lee Kelso had approached Spock on the bridge - most illogical. ‘We will discuss this matter at the end of shift, Lieutenant,’ Spock replied, quietly.

‘No we fucking won’t,’ Kelso replied, also quietly but emotionally. ‘You are coming to briefing room two with me, now.’

‘That is highly irregular…’

‘Number One!’ – Kelso turned on his heel to address the interim captain – ‘Permission for Spock and I to discuss something of importance in briefing room two.’

Number One turned round and quickly assessed the situation. ‘Permission granted.’

A two-minute journey later and Kelso was standing opposite Spock in the briefing room, arms crossed. ‘All I want to know is whether you still love him - that’s all. Well, do you?’

‘Yes,’ replied Spock.

Kelso collapsed into the chair like a child had closed his pop-up-book self. ‘I knew it.’

‘I cannot change who I am.’

‘Oh, god forbid that logical Mr. Spock change one little bit to help the man who loves him!’

‘Bonds may only be broken under extreme circumstance. It causes great pain to both parties. Terrible. And… I do not wish to break the bond. I cannot and will not forget that I loved him.’

Lee looked up into Spock’s eyes, blue pools, full of water. ‘So what the hell does that mean for us?’

‘It means only that Kirk will be a part of our lives as long as I live.’

‘Only? Fuck! Have you listened to yourself?’

‘Yes I have. I said “our lives”. Our arrangement will continue, unbroken. I love you also. I will always love you.’

I love you. Spock repeated it that evening, again and again as Kelso took him, again and again. He had said it because the sex didn’t seem to be enough for Lee. Lee needed words, just like they all did. And Spock had meant it, of course. Only, he wasn’t sure whether he was saying it to someone else too.

Now Jim’s sleeping face sent Spock to another night, the final one, in fact:

‘I’m losing you. I know I am.’

‘It is highly improbable that I could be lost on an enclosed starship…’

‘Don’t pull that pedantic shit on me, Spock. You know what I mean. You said you would always love me and it was a fucking lie.’

‘It was not a “fucking” lie. I am a Vulcan. I am incapable of lying.’

After their epic argument, he and Lee had made love all night, non-stop, just like they had when they started dating. Desperate, all-consuming, fucking. Spock considered that it was as close to pon farr as he’d ever gotten.

Then Lee was gone, killed by Gary Mitchell. Had they sensed what was going to happen, somehow?

Jim roused now. Still mostly asleep, he shuffled closer and nestled his head under Spock’s. Spock smoothed his hair and kissed it. Jim raised his face and kissed Spock on the chin. Spock moved in for a kiss on the lips – just a peck, but it became more – nuzzling, soft, a sleepy little nose brushing against Spock’s roman features. Spock felt his cock hardening. More kisses. Touching now – a stroke against Jim’s stiffness, then another. Jim’s mouth opening. A sigh. Closer. Come closer. Mouth-on-mouth, deep. Jim awake now. ‘Baby…’ – the first time Jim had said something like that. Spock was on fire. Maybe they could? Surely it was illogical to forgo the carnal act? Both of them wanted it. Peter was asleep, Winona also. They could. They could.

Spock slipped his hand down Jim’s shorts. 

‘Spock, Spock – we shouldn’t. You said we should wait. Let’s wait.’

Hand removed. 

‘Yes.’

Spock lay on his back, breathing deeply, clamping on his disciplines like a chastity belt.

‘Hey - I love you, you know.’

Spock turned to Jim. Words again. Wasn’t that sexual interlude proof enough that Jim loved him and vice-versa? Even now, Surak pardon him, Spock felt like he was going to explode.

‘When we return to the Enterprise, Captain, I am going to fuck you very hard,’ stated Spock, matter-of-factly.

‘Is that so?’ said Jim. ‘Well, I’m gonna fuck you harder.’

Spock actually laughed. ‘Was that an emotional outburst?’ asked Jim.

‘Yes,’ Spock admitted. ‘May I suggest you call the Vulcan Police, sir?’

Jim raised his hand above their heads and spun his finger round-and-round, ‘Woo-woo-woo!’ he cried, making a siren noise. ‘The Vulcan Police are on the case, logically!’

 

Morning now. Spock was awake and needing a shower. Jim was out of it and mumbling something about putting the ship on red alert. Spock murmured, ‘Aye-aye, Captain,’ into his pretty little ear, kissed it and got out of bed.

Water showers – what an indulgence. Terra and all its water made a Vulcan feel uneasy, like he was suddenly leading a millionaire’s lifestyle. Spock got out and dried himself, wrapped a towel around his waist and proceeded to dry and straighten his hair. Jim entered, naked. 

‘Good morning,’ Spock said. ‘Are you rested?’

Jim’s answer was extreme. He started to sob, shaking all over. Spock grabbed _T’hy’la_ and locked his arms around him, his towel falling to his feet as he did so. There they stood, locked in a tight embrace, “stark, bollock-naked” as Lieutenant Kyle would have put it, chest-to-chest, Spock’s crotch pressing into Jim’s thick belly. 

Spock pushed Jim back a little to look down into his eyes, < ' _What ails thee?_ ' >

‘Just the thought of today. How am I going to get her through it?’

Yes – this ritual they were going to take part in. This was to be yet another distinctly non-Vulcan day. Spock didn’t quite understand why Jim and his mother – or any species for that matter – would want to do this. But that response was inappropriate, especially at this moment.

‘You will get your mother through it, as you put it, because you have to. That is all.’

Jim’s hands left Spock and went to his face, rubbing his mouth and eyes. ‘Yes, you’re right. Okay. Let’s do this.’

Later, after breakfast was semi-eaten - ‘Ma! You have to eat something.’ ‘I’m fine. Stop fussing!’ – the family made their way down the path to the shiny Starfleet transport. They boarded, Winona and Jim chatting away, Peter utterly silent. Spock noted the difference in the Kirks’ response to stress. Where did that come from, he wondered? Perhaps George Samuel was, likewise, taciturn? Aurelan, perhaps? It was interesting.

‘Guess this must seem a little strange to you, Spock? What we’re about to do?’ 

Spock’s core attention – his peripheries always engaged in a host of calculations, problems and diagnostics – turned now to Winona’s query, ‘Vulcans do not do this, no. We consider that the body serves no purpose once the soul has departed.’

Jim winced, Peter even more so. Spock felt their discomfort. He made a mental note to be more circumspect with his language over the next few days. Words again. Always words.

< ‘ _Spock, can we tell them about the Vulcan way? The kat-thing?_ ' >

Spock turned to his almost-bondmate. Jim had gotten the hang of transmitting thoughts.

< ' _Thee and thine are family: Kirk-yu and S’k’yu. All that is needed shall be made known._ ' >

Spock cleared his throat. ‘On Vulcan, we transfer our souls and memories into vessels. They reside in our temples.’ 

‘That sounds wonderful, Spock,’ said Winona. ‘Doesn’t that sound wonderful, Peter?’

Peter’s attention was now within the transport and no longer on the passing scenery, ‘Can you go talk to them, Spock? Your family?’

‘Not talk, exactly. But we may commune with the _katra_.’

‘It’s a good thing I’m not Vulcan,’ said Winona. ‘Could you imagine me in one of those jars? I’d be swearing at you from the mantelpiece!’ 

The Kirks laughed. ‘You would, grandma!’ agreed Peter.

The transport started to sink to the ground and the momentarily high spirits of the Kirks with it. They had landed outside the Lewis Funeral Home. Spock stared outside. There was a throng of reporters. ‘Damn – I should’ve asked Starfleet to enforce a press embargo here too,’ Jim spat, angry with himself more so than the reporters.

Spock stiffened. All of his protective instincts were kicking in. ‘ _Protect the family_ ', that was the pre-Surak mantra. Spock took a couple of deep breaths. Control, control, think it through. It was logical for news services to desire information on events surrounding Deneva, even though in doing so the experience for its victims was unpleasant. Breathe. These reporters were adult people with press accreditations. Breathe. These reporters also had families, loved ones. It would be logical to appeal to this when dealing with them. 

Breathe.

The family left the transport: Jim leading, Winona behind, grasping his hand, head bent. Peter followed his grandma. Spock took the rear. He discerned that Peter was shaking, but in appearance the child was defiant of the attention forced upon him. He held his head high, his eyes forward and his face focused. He was just like his Uncle Jim.

‘Captain Kirk! Captain Kirk! What say you to the charge that the Federation should have done more to contact Deneva before this incident?’ 

‘No comment.’

‘Captain Kirk! This must be a very difficult time for you, having lost so much in this tragic event?’

‘No comment.’

‘How does it feel to have failed your family?’

The air was still for the briefest of moments. And then a steady voice pierced the hush.

‘Your statement is illogical.’ 

Spock, hands clasped firmly behind his back, stood over a much-shorter human male. Had Spock not been an unemotional Vulcan, an observer might have judged his stance as menacing.

‘The “failure” as you put it,’ emphasised Spock, ‘occurred at the end of a sequence of events which began two thousand years ago, none of which the Captain had any control over. Furthermore, it was Captain Kirk who discovered the key to destroying the creatures, something which no one had been able to across millennia. Thus, the Captain saved not only myself and his one remaining nephew, but also the million Denevans living on the planet. In light of this analysis, would you please explain how the Captain has failed his family? Because I would find that most fascinating.’

‘I, I, I…’

Spock heard in his head very distinctly < ‘ _I love you._ ’> Only Spock was aware of the twitch in his fingers.

The family turned to enter the home. 

‘I think it’s really nice that Mr. Spock is here with all of you.’ 

Spock looked over to the source of the statement. It was a female human reporter, tall, blonde. The observation seemed genuine, not really a reporter’s question at all.

It was Winona who responded. ‘Every morning I wake up and thank god that these three were returned to me: my grandson Peter, my son James and Spock. Mr. Spock is as much a part of our family as any of us. Now please – go home to your families. Don’t stand here wasting your time asking pointless questions when you could be with your loved ones, because you never know when they might be taken from you too.’

Spock followed his family through the doors. They were greeted by a tall gentleman with grey hair and glasses, respectful, serious yet soft. Spock found it fascinating how the same personality type was to be found on Vulcan amongst those whose job it was to attend to the funeral rites.

‘I am so sorry about that intrusion, Mrs Kirk. We simply could not get them to leave.’

Winona took the gentleman’s outstretched hand. Jim spoke, ‘I’ll have Starfleet lock the place down. Spock?’

Spock stepped forward, ‘Understood. I will communicate with Starfleet Central. May I suggest that we offer this to all the families?’

‘Excellent idea, Mr. Spock. Please do so.’

Jim turned to his mother: ‘Okay, are you ready?’

‘No, but I never will be. Peter - you don’t have to come in with us. You can stay with Spock if you like.’

‘Is that okay?’ asked Peter

Spock turned to the child, ‘Of course.’

Spock watched Jim take a deep breath and then put on his “Captain Kirk face”: assured, confident. ‘Let’s go.’

Spock and Peter were guided into the waiting room. It was comfortably furnished - a large couch, three armchairs and patio doors leading onto a large neat lawn, lined with flowering rose bushes. The whole scene reminded Spock of his grandparent’s house out east in Boston. It was an old person’s room; aged and flowery, pleasant, teetering on the edge of death.

Spock snapped back his communicator, ‘Spock here. Put me through to Admiral Hearst… Admiral? We have a request…’

As Spock made the arrangements, he rode wave after wave of sadness: < ‘ _If I’d just gotten their earlier, you’d be here._ ’> < ' _This is my fault, Sam, Aurelan. My fault._ ’ > < ‘ _I should have told you that I love you. I should have said it then, not now._ ’ > He shielded himself only to the extent that he could function. It was necessary, this pain. In order to grieve with them Spock had to feel this. 

Spock could have taken their pain away, of course. He possessed that wonderful Vulcan ability to absorb all the emotion and thoughts of a man. He could even make you forget with just the touch of his hand; all of your memories, unpleasant or no, gone forever. But Spock didn’t do that because to do so would have robbed the Kirks of their grief. A terrible thing had happened to them. Awful. Four members of their clan had been wiped out of existence. It was illogical to say this yet it was still true: their deaths were unfair. Unnecessary. What did it add to the cosmos? Nothing. What did it take away? Everything. Everything. 

< ‘ _Grief, anger - feel it. Take it and use it. Rage, rage against the dying light. And when you grow weary and realise that your anger is illogical because it cannot bring them back, I will be here to fall back upon. I will be here, T’hy’la. I will always be here._ ’ >

‘Thank you for your assistance, Admiral. Spock out.’

Peter’s voice rang out, piercing the death thralls: ‘Are there humans on Vulcan?’ he asked.

‘A small number,’ Spock answered, ‘four thousand six hundred and twenty-eight at the last census. Most of them live in our capital.’

Spock turned to look at Peter now. He was standing very close to the doors, the fingers of his right hand splayed against the glass, face held still, staring out to some horizon which Spock could not see. He looked almost Vulcan.

The child spoke: ‘Can a human become Vulcan?’ 

‘I do not understand your query. Explain.’

‘I mean - can I get rid of my emotions?’

Spock stared at Peter’s features – his red hair and blue eyes, freckles and pale skin. To all intents and purposes he was a twelve-year-old child. But all Spock could see was a man. An adult was growing out of this moment and what Spock said now would affect the formation of this man for the rest of his life. Words, words, words. 

‘Peter, Vulcans are not emotionless. Quite the contrary, we feel everything just as humans do.’

‘But you don’t act like that?’

‘No,’ Spock replied, ‘but that is the key to Vulcan philosophy. It is how you react to the way you feel which is important. Our lives are based in logic. If an action or reaction is the right thing to do; if it brings a benefit to the maximum number people as possible in a given situation, then we make our decision accordingly and do it. If it is the wrong thing to do, then we do not. We strive to act in ways which are not governed by the way we feel. We control our emotional reactions. Do you understand?’

‘A bit,’ Peter stuck out his lip and screwed up his eyes, ‘but what’s the good of feeling stuff if you can’t do anything with it? What if all it does is hurt you?’

Spock took a breath. How was he to answer this? He had been struggling with this concept since he was three years old. He struggled with it every day, still. But that wasn’t what Peter needed to hear right at this moment.

‘Because feelings are a fact; an unavoidable one. They make us who we are. Without feelings, none of us would exist. We would not be born. As we live our lives, feelings remind us of the things which truly matter: family, friends and lovers. When we die, the feelings of those left behind do not die with them. They continue in an endless chain of remembrance over the centuries and millennia. Feelings ensure that no one ever truly dies, Peter.’

‘I hurt, all over,’ the child-man said, placing his hands against his body as if to show Spock where it hurt.

‘Yes,’ said Spock, ‘that is your body’s way of reminding you that you have lost someone very important to you. You cannot run away from the way you feel, Peter. That is not the Vulcan way. If you truly want to become a Vulcan, then you have to face your emotions. You have to feel them, experience them, live with them. You then have to decide what to do with those feelings. Do you allow them to eat away at you, to poison you and those around you? Or do you accept them and grow from them? How you act upon your feelings is the way you and others will remember your family forever. Choose well, Peter, for your family live on in your actions. Let their legacy be a good one.’

Spock took another deep breath. He was good at advising others about how to act and feel. Why could he not do the same for himself? How he wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self that everything was going to be alright; that the endless bullying of his so-called “pure” Vulcan classmates was not going to matter a jot for he would grow up to be the man he was right now: a pure Vulcan in every good sense of the word. 

Peter was crying. He wanted to know if it was okay to do so. Spock answered his query by placing his hand on the child’s shoulder and standing behind him. Peter cried for five-point-zero-six minutes, hand held against the glass, head bowed, Spock standing in silent solidarity behind him. 

< ‘ _Remember when we did this, father?_ ’  >

Silence. And then, after what seemed forever, came the matter-of-fact reply which Spock was waiting for:

<‘ _Yes._ ’ >

Truly, being Vulcan is something special.

Jim and Winona emerged from their grief cocoon, wet and forlorn. It was time to return home. Subdued, silent, no words, only feelings, feelings, feelings. From the transport journey to bedtime, little was said. Spock walked alone for the rest of the day through a landscape of memory. He watched the Kirks erect their individual citadels to mourning, built of brick and stone, reaching to the sky. They stood on top of each, looking out over lands they had lived through: of infant George Samuels and first meetings with Aurelan. It was a colourful place, full of hope and love. Spock liked it there and did not mind being on his own.

Bedtime came early for Peter and Winona. Both disappeared with a softly-murmured, ‘Night.’ Only Jim and Spock remained downstairs as the sun finally disappeared. Spock’s lover finally came down from his citadel and joined Spock at the kitchen table. ‘Chess?’ he asked.

Spock replied by getting out the chess set.

Five rapidplay games later (three to two in Spock’s favour), Spock watched Jim get up off the chair opposite, walk around the table to Spock’s left side and push his butt back to sit in Spock’s lap. He placed his arm over Spock’s shoulder to bring his hand to the back of Spock’s head, running his fingers through his black hair. ‘Hello, handsome,’ he whispered into his pointed ear.

‘Is this because you’re losing?’

‘Partly, yes – I cannot deny.’

A smile, a perfect, lovely smile. And then a kiss, full and open. More kisses, Spock’s hand now on Jim’s head bringing him closer.

Spock pulled back and stared into those massive eyes. ‘Would you like to see a memory of mine? It is something you will like, I think.’

‘Yes,’ replied Jim and kissed him. Spock took Jim’s right hand, splayed his fingers out and placed them against his temple, the side of his long nose and against his sharp cheekbone. Spock grabbed Jim’s ass and brought him in closer and stared into his eyes. ‘Let us begin,’ he murmured.

‘That’s mom. Oh my god – how old is she?’

‘Young. This is thirty-three years ago.’

‘She is beautiful.’

‘Indeed.’

‘What’s that I see now? Are those your arms? Your hands?’

‘Yes, I am two years of age. I am reaching out to your mother. Amanda has brought me to Earth to visit my grandparents and also her best friend, Winona.’

‘You really like my mom. I can feel it. You think she looks like a _sehlat_ ? What the hell’s a _sehlat_ ?’

‘A pet. They are like giant teddy bears but with six-inch fangs and claws. The females have manes - brown and bushy.’

‘Hah! I can see that about her! Oh, she is hugging you so tight and you are hugging her right back. This is amazing.’

‘Yes. Father trained that trait out of me soon after this.’

‘Wait – mom… she’s pregnant. Is that…?’

‘Be quiet and watch.’

Infant Spock now looked down at Winona’s bulge. He pointed to it. ‘There is a baby in there. A human baby.’

Winona smiled. ‘Yes Spock. I am pregnant.’

‘May I touch your belly?’ 

A voice rang out, Amanda’s, unseen, ‘Spock, be careful.’

‘It’s okay, ‘Manda. Sure Spock, you can touch me.’

Spock placed his chubby hands against Winona’s swollen belly. His head was flooded with golden sunshine, laughter and smiles. Spock laughed.

‘What’s funny, honey?’ Winona asked.

‘He is,’ said Spock, ‘the baby.’

‘Am I having a baby boy?’ asked Winona.

‘Affirmative,’ replied Spock. He gestured to Winona with his finger to come closer. She bent down on one knee, awkwardly. ‘What is it, Spock?’ she asked.

‘Can I tell you a secret?’ Spock asked quietly.

‘Sure,’ said Winona, laughing.

Spock cupped his hand over Winona’s ear and bent in close. ‘I love him,’ he whispered.

Winona bent back and stared at Spock, her green-brown eyes filling with wonder. ‘You do…? Well, so do I. And I’m going to call him James - James Tiberius Kirk. Do you like that?’

Jim broke the meld. The water in his eyes made them dance. 

A tear rolled Jim’s cheek. Spock wiped it away. 

No words. Just feelings, living forever-and-ever, existing before they were even born, living on long after they would die.

That is the Vulcan way. That is love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"stronger than spores..."_ Spock thinks that him and Jimothy made a commitment after the Leila Kalomi incident, because Jim betrayed the thought to Spock (when they were fighting in the transport room), that 'the blonde bitch can't have you.' That's what snapped Spock out of the spores - the knowledge that Kirk was fighting as much for him as the Enterprise.
> 
>  _"He was dreaming about Peter..."_ Spock's been telling me some interesting stuff about Kirk. I'm not sure if I'll have time to write it. But...yeah. 
> 
> _"Lee Kelso had approached Spock on the bridge..."_ If you're not following what's going on here, you need to go read One Summer and The Death of Kelso. This whole One Summer collection is one great big story. Things happen in the past which affect the future. Things happen in the future which affect the now. Yes, really. Spock and Kirk have told me all about this. It's... mind-blowing.
> 
>  _"Captain, I am going to fuck you very hard..."_ You will note that Spock seems to have no problem with "the swears" here, as opposed to his stance in the film which you 21st Century bunch call The Voyage Home (Notice how I have borrowed your naming conventions for this fic? Clever, eh?). Well, that's because his brain had been re-set. At this time, he's had about 36 years of being around humans in one way or another, including a few boyfriends who - how shall I put this? - liked to express their fondness for Spock's sexual prowess in vulgar terms. So yes, Spock can swear freely, but he saves it for the bedroom when he lets rip, so to speak.
> 
>  _"as Lieutenant Kyle would have put it..."_ Kyle hails from the British Isles, which has now been universally recognised as the best place for swears. Truly, the best vulgar language comes from England, Scotland and Wales (and also Ireland). It became the centre for Swear Studies in the 23rd Century, and since Khitomer it attracts a number of Klingon scholars as Klingons love a good 'eff and blind' as the English say. As I'm originally from England, it is a great source of pride to me. I attend SwearCon every year. Never fuckin' miss the bugger.
> 
> < ' _What ails thee...?_ ' > Whenever you see speech typed like this, it is being transmitted through a bond. And if it reads like an actor at a renaissance fair, then it is being translated from Vulcan through the bond. Jim is now at the stage where he understands Spock automatically when he speaks in his native tongue through their bond.
> 
>  _"Kirk-yu and S’k’yu..."_ Spock's clan is the S'k'yu. All the males have names beginning with S and ending with k. The suffix of yu is basically the Vulcan for clan. So what clan was Surak from? Yeah, you worked it out. Clever. Go have a replicated chocolate malt on me. No, I insist.
> 
>  _Can a human become Vulcan...?_ Peter actually ends up visiting Vulcan with his grandma and stays with Sarek and Amanda for an extended period. That story might also be told, if we have time.
> 
>  _"Vulcans are not emotionless..."_ Spock chooses not to tell Peter about the _kolinahr_ because it's really not what the kid needs to hear at that moment. Spock understands that he needs to deal with his feelings, not seal them away. The _kolinahr_ is about the attainment of pure logic, not running away from the way you feel. And that's really what Spock realises at the beginning of what you lot call Star Trek: The Motion Picture (lol - your wacky titles).

**Author's Note:**

>  _"I've told Starfleet they can go fuck themselves..."_ Kirk learned swears from his mother. He doesn't swear often, but when he does it is invariably to her. Winona loves to swear. She swears like a sailor in fact, which is funny because her son is a sailor. She tells him that it was her way of training him for service.
> 
>  _"new families had settled there only a year before those monsters hit it..."_ The Denevan incident was a major shitstorm for the Federation. Families were angry that no starship was sent earlier to investigate. There had been no contact with Deneva for a year. Furthermore, there had been many reports of strange occurrences throughout the system, plus archaeological evidence of a cataclysmic event involving madness some centuries ago on an outlying planet. At first, the Colonisation Service sought to scapegoat Kirk and the Enterprise, but this blew up in their face, not least because of Kirk's enormous personal loss. Kirk had not been ordered to go there beforehand, and he'd had no information from Sam to say that he should. Deneva forced the Federation to rethink its colonisation and contact policies. In some ways you see, my time is no different from yours. Sometimes it takes the death of souls to make officials think and act properly. It is not logical, but nevertheless it is true.
> 
>  _"you’ve got a girl pregnant..."_ Yes Kirk has and he also knows it at this time. David is an actual fact. His mother decided that she wanted a baby but didn't want Jim around. We know the rest of the story. 
> 
> _"She didn’t understand what a bond can do to a human boy of seventeen..._ Perhaps all of us have had a bondmate at that age. There's a reason why Romeo and Juliet were teenagers: that is the age where love feels the most like madness. Vulcans never grow out of this. Perhaps that's why they seek the refuge of logic.
> 
>  _"I am the mother of James T. Kirk"_ Winona shares this trait with the mother of another famous person. In his autobiography, William Shatner tells how his mother loved telling everyone that she was his mom, to the extent that air stewardesses would say to him: 'Ah - we had your mother on board last week...'
> 
>  _"Captain Kirk and the intrepid Mr. Spock..."_ Yes, the boys are famous. Bones too. But it's these pair who get the lion's share of press attention. Uhura still likes to embarrass Spock from time-to-time with his 'Sexiest Man of the Year' award which he got from Glamour magazine. Kirk gets that rubbish too, but he's proud of it.
> 
>  _"She was an artist so she observed everything..."_ Winona studied fashion design in college, but returned to her general love of illustration after graduating. She became a comic book artist. Her comic strip - a story we are going to tell in the future - is actually one of the best-loved in the galaxy. 
> 
> _"plain as the perfect, tiny nose on her face"_ It is simple fact that Winona and her son James have the sexiest noses in the galaxy. Go look at Kirk's nose. 'Tis a thing of insane beauty. I could write a poem to it. In fact I have: 'Oh tiny button on the face of angel tanned...' (goes on for five more pages...)
> 
>  _"he was pure Manda through-and-through..."_ Manda is Winona's nickname for her college flatmate Amanda Grayson. Manda calls her 'Winnie'.
> 
>  _"Sam...!"_ Your televised log - that thing you call 'Star Trek' - says that only Kirk called his brother 'Sam'. Not true. The Kirks followed an old-fashioned naming technique of naming the eldest boy of each generation 'George', but to make sure there was less confusion, at every other generation the "George" was referred to by his middle name.
> 
>  _"How did he manage to tan in space...?"_ Because he uses fake tan, that's why. And make-up. Beauty is a cross-genders thing in the century 23. Please see also 'Spock's eyeshadow'.
> 
>  _"opened his arms and wrapped them around her, tight..."_ Hugs from Spock are few and far between, but when they come? Oh. My. God. They are so good. The rarity of them kinda guarantees a special experience, but with that touch-telepathy of his? Mmm-mmm. Uhura and Janice reminisce about their respective 'Spock Squeeze' on an annual basis at least.


End file.
